


Dry

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 21:50:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21435247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Imladris greatly disappoints Thranduil.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 57





	Dry

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

“The fountain has already frozen over, my lord,” Lindir explains, speaking of the Eastern courtyard where their new benches have just been installed. “But I believe the roses will survive if watered deliberately at the proper intervals—the gardeners have assured me the tarp will not be necessary this year.”

Elrond nods and allows a small smile—that courtyard has long been one of his favourites, and he’s pleased its beauty will not be interrupted. “Excellent. And the azaleas?”

“Under normal circumstances—”

The door to Elrond’s office slams open so suddenly that Lindir physically jumps. Some of his long hair flies into his face, one brown braid catching in his mouth, and he splutters, spitting out, coughing as he tries to regain himself. He’s dropped every last one of the scrolls that he was holding, and as soon as he sees that a predator hasn’t burst in to slaughter them, he hurriedly bends down and begins collecting them off the floor. Elrond merely raises one eyebrow at Thranduil.

Thranduil ignores Lindir entirely. He marches right over to Elrond’s desk and demands, “Where is the wine.”

Usually, Elrond takes no pleasure in denying his guests their wishes. With this particular guest, he can’t deny subtle enjoyment in subverting Thranduil’s expectations. He answers smoothly, “There is no wine.”

Thranduil narrows his eyes. He leans forward, his white-gold hair sweeping over Elrond’s desk, silver robes shimmering in the early light. His frigid crown might make him look intimidating to a servant, but Elrond has faced far greater threats and doesn’t cower. Thranduil hisses, “That is what the kitchen staff dared to tell me, but it cannot be the truth. You will tell me that truth _now_.”

Elrond doesn’t particularly appreciate being given orders in his own home. But he also possesses near infinite patience, and he finds that rattles Thranduil more than any snappy comebacks ever could. Elrond answers, “That is the truth. We do not order wine in the winter season, for it is too cold to drink cold things.”

Thranduil’s nostrils flare. In his own home, he drinks year round—he has a problem that’s known all the way to Lothlórien and back. Elrond doesn’t share that problem. Thranduil continues staring into Elrond’s eyes, as though Elrond is a prisoner that will break under such intense interrogation. He doesn’t. Finally, Thranduil stiffly straightens up. He asks with no small degree of anger, “Then what _do_ you drink?”

“Hot cocoa.”

Thranduil purses his lips. “Does this ‘hot cocoa’ contain alcohol?”

Elrond answers with an unequivocal, “No.”

Thranduil’s voice jumps up an octave as he growls, “_Then what good is it?_”

Elrond sighs. He’s grown weary of Thranduil’s company already. It never does take long. He diverts his eyes from his fretting guest and asks, “Lindir, please make King Thranduil a cup of hot cocoa.”

“Right away, my lord,” Lindir promises, dipping into a respectful bow before scurrying away. He’s a polite, refreshing breath of pleasant air after Thranduil’s insufferable attitude. 

Thranduil mutters, “This is an outrage,” but thankfully also storms away.


End file.
